<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Yuletide Festivities by valdomarx</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865989">Yuletide Festivities</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdomarx/pseuds/valdomarx'>valdomarx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fake Marriage, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, home for the holidays, unapologetic romcom cliches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 11:40:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdomarx/pseuds/valdomarx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier needs someone to pretend to be his fiancé when he goes home to Lettenhove for the holidays. Of course Geralt gets roped into the job...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>453</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Yuletide Festivities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I think we all need a bit of holiday fluff right now, so please enjoy this extremely self-indulgent romcom nonsense.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”</p><p>Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”</p><p>“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”</p><p>“What do you <em>want</em>, Jaskier?” Testier this time.</p><p>“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”</p><p>Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.</p><p>“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”</p><p>Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”</p><p>Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”</p><p>Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?</p><p>“Fine,” he says gruffly. </p><p>“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”</p><p>Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.</p><p>“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy. </p><p>“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”</p><p>She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that <em>exciting</em> would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”</p><p>“He will.”</p><p>Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”</p><p>“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“That went rather well!”</p><p>Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”</p><p>Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species. </p><p>Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed. </p><p>“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”</p><p>Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-</p><p>“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.</p><p>Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”</p><p>Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.</p><p>Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.</p><p>Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns. </p><p>They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.</p><p>When a cousin begins expounding on <em>useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle</em>, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible. </p><p>Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply. </p><p>“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”</p><p>Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice. </p><p>“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket. </p><p>The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.</p><p>Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days. </p><p>Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.</p><p>“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”</p><p>The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.</p><p>The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.</p><p>“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little <em>o</em> of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.</p><p>Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.</p><p>“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss. </p><p>Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.</p><p>They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.</p><p>When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.</p><p>“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in. </p><p>Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”</p><p>“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.</p><p>“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”</p><p>Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.</p><p>“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”</p><p>Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sending love and happiness to everyone celebrating the holidays, especially those of us who can't see family this year. Stay strong &lt;3</p><p>This fic is also posted over on <a href="https://valdomarx.tumblr.com/post/636519687185940480/geralt-my-dearest-friend-my-closest-companion">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>